


Silence

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Cock Warming, Gabriel is a jerk, He’s just the worst, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, no betas we fall like angels, poor angel baby, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:40:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23017165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Sometimes, when Aziraphale is giving his reports in Heaven, he rambles. Sometimes, his rambling pisses Gabriel off to no end. And sometimes, Gabriel decides that he can think of something better for Aziraphale do to with his mouth.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 167
Collections: Anonymous





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt on the GO kinkmeme. Original prompt and fill [here](https://good-omens-kink.dreamwidth.org/3161.html?thread=1939033). If I missed anything I should’ve tagged for, please let me know, and I hope you enjoy!!

Aziraphale was rambling. 

He _knew_ he was, and he _knew_ how much Gabriel hated it, and the look Gabriel was giving him was making his stomach clench, but instead of bile words were pouring out and he just couldn’t seem to _stop_. “… And then, of course, I couldn’t leave the poor man in that sort of a state, and so I–“ 

Gabriel cleared his throat, and Aziraphale fell silent, the fear that had settled in his stomach spreading outwards throughout his entire body. 

“I thought I told you to keep it short,” Gabriel said, and his voice was still calm and friendly and positively conversational, despite the annoyance written across his face. 

“You did,” Aziraphale said, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean–“ 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Gabriel said, shaking his head and pushing his chair back from his desk. “What makes you think that talking _more_ is going to improve my mood?” 

Aziraphale clamped his jaw shut. 

Gabriel grinned, an ice-cold grin that didn’t reach his eyes. He still hadn’t stood from his chair, though there was now plenty of room between him and the desk for him to do so. 

Of course, Aziraphale knew what was coming. But perhaps, if he was good _now_ , if he listened and stayed quiet and proved that he could do better– 

“I think,” Gabriel said, “I know something better for you to do with your mouth than running it about those useless humans. Hm?” 

And the wave of fear that had been building in Aziraphale crested and crashed into proper panic. “Please, Gabriel, I don’t–“ 

“What did I say about the talking?” Gabriel snapped. 

Aziraphale shut up, feeling the hot prick of tears in the corners of his eyes. He forced them back. He couldn’t cry. Didn’t dare. 

Gabriel gestured to the desk– or, more accurately, to the small hollow beneath the desk that was just the right size for this sort of thing. “On your knees.” 

For a split second, Aziraphale considered refusing. Considered leaving, running away, teleporting himself back to his bookshop, leaping through the stupid globe in Heaven’s vast lobby. 

Though, if he refused, if he ran, if he disobeyed such a direct order that flagrantly… 

He had no desire to repeat the reprimand he’d received after helping Crowley with those children on the Ark. And, well. Angels _had_ been put to death before. 

“Now!” Gabriel snapped, and Aziraphale scrambled forwards, his stomach twisting and his tears threatening to fall again. He crawled underneath Gabriel’s desk, and the Archangel moved his chair forwards again, trapping Aziraphale in the dark, cramped space, and panic froze Aziraphale’s limbs. His stomach was twisted up in so many knots that it was frankly a surprise that he wasn’t vomiting. 

“Well?” Gabriel was getting properly impatient. 

Aziraphale swallowed and reached up to undo his painfully fashionable breeches. 

Gabriel’s cock was long, and thick, and– thankfully– still soft. Not that such a fact made this all that much more bearable. 

Aziraphale swallowed again as Gabriel shifted slightly, and then, slowly, as slowly as he dared, leaned forwards and took Gabriel’s frankly overlarge cock in his mouth, barely remembering to turn off his gag reflex as he did. No need to make this any more difficult than it had to be. 

Gabriel looked down at him, the anger in his face slowly draining away. “There we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it, sunshine?” 

Aziraphale didn’t respond. Couldn’t respond. 

Gabriel lifted his gaze again to something on his desk, and Aziraphale focused on regulating his breathing, on not gagging, on not inhaling too much of Gabriel’s scent– ozone and lilacs and lavender, poor Crowley hadn’t understood why Aziraphale hadn’t kept the flowers he’d given him, but that _smell_. He couldn’t let his tears fall. Tears were dangerous. Tears would always inspire some sort of reaction in Gabriel, and reactions were not a good thing, here and now. Reactions were to be avoided at all costs. 

Reactions always meant that things went on for far longer than they would otherwise have done. 

There was a knock on the office door, and Aziraphale’s entire body– save his jaw– tensed. 

“Come in!” Gabriel called. 

The door opened. Aziraphale glanced around the tiny hollow he was in. He knew that the walls of the desk extended all the way to the floor. He knew that no one could see him down here– neither physical nor metaphysical gazes could penetrate the not-quite-wood. 

He also knew that there was no small chance that the angels visiting with Gabriel could tell, despite that fact. 

Aziraphale stopped his breathing entirely, stopped any and all motion. Motion made it all the more likely that he would be noticed. 

The tears were growing dangerous, now, blurring his vision, on the verge of slipping out, and so Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, focused on the feeling of his knees against the always-icy floor of Heaven, focused on his lack of breathing, on his hands, clenching into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. 

The angel on the other side of the desk took a few steps closer, and Aziraphale felt a flush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. He tuned out their voice, tuned out Gabriel’s replies, tuned out everything but the press of his knees into the ground and his nails into his palms. 

The angel’s footsteps retreated, the office door closed, and a single tear slipped free of Aziraphale’s vicelike control. 

Gabriel’s voice sounded, almost amused. “Have you learned your– oh, look at _you_. All red and teary. It’s the only time you’re worth looking at.” 

_Oh, Lord, he noticed, he_ noticed. 

“Look at me,” Gabriel commanded. 

Aziraphale obeyed, feeling another few tears slip free as he opened his eyes and hating it, hating himself, hating everything about this. 

Gabriel reached down and stroked Aziraphale’s hair almost gently, a smirk playing across his lips. 

Then he looked away, withdrawing his hand, and returned to work. 

Aziraphale had no idea how long he was down there. Five or six more angels came and went, and in between, Gabriel worked silently, filling out forms and signing reports and doing whatever else it was that he did while Aziraphale wasn’t kneeling beneath his desk with his cock in his mouth. Aziraphale’s knees ached, and there were surely rather deep grooves in his palms by now, and though he had managed not to cry again it was getting harder and harder, and all he wanted was to _leave_. 

Heaven was lit by perpetual sunlight, an eternal noon that never faded or ceased, though its light was rather dimmer down here, in this cramped lavender-storm space. 

After what could have been several hours or could have been several days, Gabriel looked down again, a thoughtful expression on his face. 

“Are you still consuming all that gross matter?” he asked. 

Aziraphale blinked, then blinked again. How was he meant to–? 

“You are, aren’t you?” Gabriel continued, frowning. “You’ve gained weight again.” 

Aziraphale’s flush deepened. 

Gabriel grinned. “Well. If you like indulging so much…” 

_No_ , Aziraphale thought desperately, knowing that Gabriel could not hear him, knowing that even if he could he wouldn’t care. _No, Gabriel, please,_ please _don’t_ – 

Gabriel’s cock hardened in an instant, and Aziraphale’s already-shaky grip on his gag reflex failed. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Gabriel grunted, gripping Aziraphale’s hair and _pulling_ as he started to thrust, and Aziraphale tried desperately to control himself, not to cry, and failed tremendously at both. 

It wasn’t long before Gabriel was coming, deep enough in Aziraphale’s throat that he had no choice but to swallow, but he didn’t let up, didn’t soften again, hardly even paused in his motions. He came again, and again, and again, and again, and Aziraphale began to lose count, his throat burning and his face flushed and covered in spit and tears. Gabriel didn’t let up until Aziraphale was _stuffed_ , a sick perversion of the feeling after an over-large meal, a feeling that made him want nothing more than to leave here and vomit up everything that he had just swallowed. 

Finally, _finally_ , Gabriel drew back, pushing his chair back once more, giving Aziraphale a little bit of space for the first time in… how long had it been? 

Aziraphale collapsed forwards onto his hands, gasping for air, the spit and tears on his face nearly icy in the cold of Heaven. 

“Well, up you get,” Gabriel said, grinning. “I can’t let you laze around forever!” 

Aziraphale sucked in another breath, then clambered out from under the desk and rose to his feet, trembling all the while. 

“Before you go,” Gabriel said, standing as well, “I was just reading your miracle reports. You’ve been doing a lot of frivolous miracles lately.” 

“F-frivolous?” Aziraphale asked, and his voice came out as more of a rasp than anything else. He raised a hand to his throat, fighting back his grimace. 

“All of your extra little blessings and healings and things. There were a lot of miracles on your corporation, too. What mess did you get yourself into in seventeen eighty-one?” He chuckled, and Aziraphale forced a weak smile. “You should cut those down to no more than one per quarter. None of that extra teleporting or healing or anything like that. Got it?” 

Aziraphale nodded and forced another trembling smile. 

“Excellent,” said Gabriel, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll drop you off at your base of operations, save you the miracle. Remember, one corporal miracle per quarter! Good seeing you, Aziraphale. Till next time, yeah?” 

And then Gabriel was gone, Heaven was gone, and Aziraphale was standing in the middle of his flat in London. 

He gasped, staggering towards one of the plush armchairs and sinking into it. His head hurt and his throat hurt and his stomach hurt and his knees hurt and oh, Lord, his entire body smelt of lavender. 

Aziraphale snapped, healing the various aches he’d accumulated and vanishing both the cum and the lavender scent in one. Then he winced. Well. That was his miracle on his body this quarter, then, wasn’t it? Hopefully he wouldn’t need another. He didn’t _expect_ to, but, well. 

1781\. That would have been the American Revolution. Both Aziraphale and Crowley had been sent to meddle, though neither was ever explicitly told which side they were meant to meddle _for_ , and thus they had spent the time desperately searching for a decent-quality wine, up until Crowley’s accent and habit of irritating all he came across ran afoul of some of the Sons of Liberty in Yorktown. Aziraphale had stepped in before anything got too far out of hand, but he had taken a few hits in the brawl before managing to de-escalate, and had healed them afterwards. 

Well. Clearly, that would no longer be an option. Aziraphale would just need to be careful, and Crowley would have to keep a good bit further away from trouble. 

A strange sort of longing rose up in Aziraphale’s chest. Oh, how he wanted to see Crowley. Where was the demon now? Last Aziraphale had heard, he’d been sent off to France to stir up some trouble, but after these sorts of things… 

Aziraphale took a few more deep breaths, then left the flat, purchasing a newspaper from the youngest paper-boy he came across. 

Today was October 3rd, 1793. He’d gone up to Heaven on the 30th of September. 

Well. It had been longer before. Once, Gabriel had left him sitting under that desk for over a month. That had been rather unpleasant. 

Aziraphale sighed, then made his way towards the docks. It was a bit of a walk from Soho, but Aziraphale needed to move, needed to be out in the open air, breathing in any and all scents that weren’t lavender and ozone, even if they were the scents of London instead. 

In all likelihood, Crowley was still in France. That was good. It ought to make it rather easier to find him. And, of course, it had been quite a while since Aziraphale had eaten proper crepes… 

_Since you like indulging so much…_

Aziraphale shoved the thought into the space in his mind where he shoved all such thoughts, and quite firmly locked the door behind it. It was not his place to question Heavenly discipline. Even if said discipline left him feeling immeasurably dirtier than anything on Earth ever could. It was just more proof of his failures as an angel, really. Gabriel was being _merciful_ , not sending Aziraphale for proper reprimands, and any good angel would be grateful. 

Aziraphale sped up. He would be in France soon. He would have some crepes, and perhaps brioche, as well– oh, there was simply nowhere for such things but Paris. Yes, he would go for lunch, and then find Crowley, and… and everything would be okay again. 

Tears burned once more at the corners of Aziraphale’s eyes, and he walked faster, hardly noticing or caring who he jostled on his way. Crowley. Find Crowley. He just had to find Crowley. 

Then everything would be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this mess!!! Your kudos and comments fuel me.


End file.
